


sequences too confusing to memorize

by Mizzy



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gun Violence, Injury, M/M, Possession, Relationship Reveal, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28628418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizzy/pseuds/Mizzy
Summary: What if, instead of being vague about it, Quentin told the Monster exactly why he cares so much about Eliot?
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 12
Kudos: 88
Collections: Peaches and Plums Stockings 2020





	sequences too confusing to memorize

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheAudity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAudity/gifts).



“Eliot, Eliot, Eliot... Why do you care about him so much?” the Monster asks.  
  
For a split second, Quentin almost goes with the first words he thinks of, a burst of pure emotion that still pushes down the thing he’s been sublimating hard since last year, in a darkened room, when something fundamental inside him got quietly crushed down by a single, ugly rejection.  
  
But then—he doesn’t know why—he doesn’t. He snaps in a different way.  
  
The “because I do” on the tip of his tongue just—morphs into a flood of words. The truth Quentin’s been sitting on all this time.  
  
“Because he’s my family. He and I were stuck in the past for half a century together and we—we fell in love, we—we spent years and years and years together. He was my partner for five decades, he helped me raise my son. He’s the only real family I have left. You know what family is? That’s important to you.”  
  
“Family,” the Monster says, halting over the syllables.  
  
“Search your memories,” Quentin says, buoyed by the way the Monster lingers over the word. “The memories of your host. I know you can.”  
  
“I told you I can’t.”  
  
“It’s okay that you lied to me,” Quentin says. There’s tension thrumming through him, pounding in his ears. He’s so tired, so worn out, so sad—but Eliot broke through the other day and that’s given him so much strength, too. “My kid lied to me too. It’s—it’s normal when you’re processing how to use these—these mortal emotions. I’m not mad. I understand.”  
  
The Monster tilts Eliot’s head. “You and this body had a child together,” he says, in the curious way he’s said all the new things he’s been learning about.  
  
“Yes,” Quentin says, bravado firing through his words. It’s too late now to take the truth back. He has to commit to it now. “We raised him together. That’s—that’s—that’s where I was most happy. I spent all my energy on looking after and caring for my child.”  
  
“Like you—care for me.”  
  
Quentin burns with bile because no, not like Teddy, but—if that helps the Monster learn, understand, get better... Quentin needs to push forwards. “Yeah. But I can’t keep doing it alone. I’m human and—and fragile. But search your host’s memories. Do it. You can see how I did it because I had someone at my side, because I had Eliot by my side. It’s easier with someone at your side. You can share the—share the boring tasks. Like all that reading. Julia shares the reading. You like that it’s less reading for you.”  
  
“Reading is boring,” the Monster admits. “But if you have him back he’ll have your attention.” The Monster hums. “And he shot me. I find that...offensive.”  
  
“He’s sorry. I bet he’s so sorry for that—he was scared—you were taking his family away. Last time, he got to look after teddy with me but this time I was trying—to get you all to myself. Don’t you remember? At the castle? I was trying to keep all the fun and games to myself.”  
  
“Oh, that was actually naughty of you then.”  
  
“Yes. Yes, and I’m sorry, but you can—you can give him back and we can look after you together. You like having me around? What about having two people focused on you all the time.” Quentin’s speaking faster now, maybe he’s too desperate, but it’s the first time he feels like maybe he’s getting through to the Monster. “You can get another body—one in a coma, one that’s better, stronger, less alcohol abuse—“  
  
“Hmph,” the Monster says. And rolls his eyes. “It’s fussy.”  
  
Quentin holds his breath. Please. Oh god. Please. Please.  
  
“All right,” the Monster says, and Quentin nearly sobs, but he holds that in—the Monster doesn’t like crying. “He’ll have to cook for me, though,” the Monster adds, loudly. “This one can cook.”  
  
“Yes,” Quentin says, fervently. “I’m sure he will.”  
  
“And sing to me like he sang for your son.”  
  
“Yes. _Please._ ”  
  
There’s a long pause from the Monster, then he says, in a bored tone, “I’ll consider it,” and then he disappears.  
  


* * *

  
Quentin would like to lie on the floor in a heap for a while—being choked and emotionally wrecked kinda takes it out of you, and the maybe of it all is singing on every single nerve he has—but he can’t. Julia’s still there, after all, and she looks stunned.  
  
He drags himself into a sitting position, at least, and Julia comes and slides down the wall to sit next to him. They sit like silent, shocked bookends for a while.  
  
“You and Eliot—“ Julia starts, and falters.  
  
“Yep,” Quentin says, vaguely confirming everything now, because really, what doesn’t that encompass?  
  
“I’d already figured out you were in love with each other,” Julia says, matter-of-factly. “I just didn’t know if you two knew it. But. Shit. Fifty years? That was the—the time key, wasn’t it. That’s what Eliot meant, in the park.”  
  
There’s no point lying now. “Mmhmm. Even though Margo stopped us from ever going, a little while after, Eliot and I got memories of it back. Uh—it was a lot—and neither of us—handled it particularly well. And then—well—“ Quentin gestures in order to generally encompass the last few months, and Julia—because she’s known Quentin forever—totally gets it.  
  
Julia’s about to keep asking questions—it’s _Julia_ —but the Monster reappears, with a whole hospital bed and set-up?  
  
“This one is brain-dead. They were about to flip the little switchy—I don’t know. Fix it and you can have your Eliot back, I suppose,” the Monster says, and Quentin’s instantly on his feet, no hesitation, Julia right by his side.

* * *

  
“There are definitely spells to do this, but they’ll make him stronger, faster,” Julia mutters.  
  
“Whatever it takes,” Quentin says.  
  
The paperwork checks out. The young man in front of them was never going to wake up, without magical help. Maybe it’s morally still a bit terrible... but it’s a much better option than Eliot remaining possessed.  
  
“I’m bored,” the Monster sing-songs—he’s lying on the floor and scooping Nutella directly with his hands into Eliot’s mouth. “Hurry up.”  
  
Julia looks across at the Monster awkwardly. “Without magic, I don’t know if we can.”  
  
“Jules,” Quentin hisses, because they’re so close to getting Eliot back, she can’t—she _can’t_ ruin things now—  
  
“Oh, magic,” the Monster says and throws something at Julia—she catches the Nutella-smeared item—a small blue coin purse. Inside is an entire handful of Deweys. “I took them off a woman who was looking at me funny. Then I took her eyeballs so she couldn’t do it again. Will they do?”  
  
Quentin feels faint, but Julia’s already digging open the bag.  
  
“Yeah,” she says, nodding, her eyes travelling over the unconscious body. Her eyes are alight; Quentin realizes she’s actually looking forward to the puzzle of working this all out.  
  
Quentin’s exhausted before they even begin, but once they start, he realizes he has enough energy, purely from the adrenaline of hope. This is the most positive he’s felt in such a long time, despite the fact that they’re possibly ensuring the Monster had an even stronger body to inhabit, and excluding the knowledge he’ll have to answer a million questions from Julia later.  
  
Eliot will be back. That makes it all worth it.  
  


* * *

  
There are a couple of rocky moments, but—somehow—probably because Julia is an actual genius—it works.  
  
It works.  
  
The body wakes up—but no one is home—and there’s a flash—and Eliot crumples to his knees, and the body sits up, patting himself down and licking his teeth.  
  
“This body isn’t as tall,” the Monster says, as Julia and Quentin both run to Eliot’s side. “But it does feel like it could take a lot more fun drugs.”  
  
“Yeah,” Eliot—Eliot!!—says weakly, leaning into Quentin and letting them help him stand again. “Yeah, my liver isn’t the shiniest in town. My bad.”  
  
The Monster hums. And then without warning raises a gun and precisely shoots Eliot in the abdomen.  
  
Quentin’s head is filled with a whistling noise and his chest feels like it’s going to explode and Eliot—Eliot is covered in blood and Julia’s got it splattered all over her, so Quentin must too, and no, he won’t accept this, he can’t—he’s just got Eliot back—this is insane—he can’t cope—his hands are on the wound, and it’s warm, and Eliot’s eyes are dilated, and he’s sinking back to the ground.  
  
“What the hell did you do that for?” Julia yells, angrily.  
  
“Making things fair,” the Monster says. “He shot me. So I shot him. Now we’re even.”  
  
Quentin is about to absolutely lose his shit—except then he realizes—  
  
“I’m okay,” Eliot says, and then, quieter, “Quentin. _Darling._.”  
  
The Monster shot Eliot—and then healed him?  
  
“It’s even,” the Monster says. “When he shot me it hurt for twenty seconds before I moved on. So I shot him and made it hurt for forty seconds. It’s called interest. I learned about it on the television.”  
  
“That seems very fair,” Eliot says loudly, cutting across whatever words Julia was probably about to come out with.  
  
“Learning,” Quentin says faintly, “yeah, that’s good.”  
  
The Monster nods. “Bake me cookies,” he points at Eliot. “Big ones. With chunks.”  
  
Eliot looks nonplussed, but then rallies. “Of...course,” he says, and heads to the kitchen to start baking cookies, looking perplexed.  
  
Quentin thinks he knows how he feels.  
  


* * *

  
Quentin waits until the Monster is distracted by the TV again before sidling up to join Eliot at the counter. He holds a book in his hands so it looks like he’s reading, but he can’t focus on a word—too keenly aware of Eliot. Right there. _Eliot._  
  
“Sorry if you feel like hell,” Quentin whispers. “He kind of rode you like a pony.”  
  
Eliot huffs and continues scooping out cookie dough. “We need to talk,” Eliot says, keeping his voice low and quiet too.  
  
Quentin sags. The most anxiety-provoking words in the world. “Yeah,” he sighs.  
  
“About how much I screwed up in the throne room by lying to you about what I really wanted,” Eliot says, still sounding light and conversational, and Quentin abandons the book in favor of openly staring at Eliot’s face.  
  
“Oh,” Quentin breathes, noting the flush on Eliot’s cheeks. “Yeah. Let’s talk about that.”  
  
Eliot flashes him a brief look and there’s so much hope in it that Quentin’s stomach squirms in an almost full-of-butterflies kind of way (although he’d never say that out loud, considering Eliot’s feelings about butterflies.) “Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah,” Quentin says, because the impossible has already just happened, why not believe in Eliot a little longer? “I can’t promise it’ll entirely be talking. I’ve kind of—been losing my mind at the idea of losing you forever. Getting you back—makes a guy overly grateful, y’know?”  
  
Eliot beams into his bowl of cookie dough. “You’re incredible, Quentin Coldwater. Although...I kinda didn’t think we’d be raising a child together again so soon.”  
  
Quentin frowns, and then looks over to where the Monster is lying on his new stomach on the floor, watching cartoons on TV, and Quentin can’t help but laugh. Life is so fucking weird, but at least he knows now he has Eliot back that he can face anything. Bring it on. He’s ready for it.


End file.
